


i'm frightened more than usual lately

by orphan_account



Series: septiplier dump ღ [3]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :(, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Guilt, I didn't explicitly write death but you can assume, Loss, Loss of hope, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Poor Jackaboy, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack never wanted to lose his best friend, but he didn't have a goddamn choice.





	i'm frightened more than usual lately

**Author's Note:**

> I found this badboy sitting pretty in my storage so here it is

     Jack raced across the parking lot in an over-sized t-shirt (one of his boyfriend’s) and shorts accompanied with his bedside slippers.

     He hardly heard everything around him. It was all pointless, just white noise to fill a void that was so scarily empty that Jack figured just the thought of it was about to make him cry.

     Truth be told, he’d run to this building in this attire and pretty damn near barefoot, and that was at least a 10 or 15 minute drive. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a _fuck._ He was pretty sure, also, that he left his wallet with Ethan in his haste to get out here. But he still couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.

     His mind was occupied with one thought; one huge thought that was so bittersweet it was even comical. One thought that filled the entire vast area of his brain.

_Mark._

     Jack’s eyes flashed memories of coruscating lights and bloody asphalt and the crushed remnants of Mark’s car. He shook his head, this blur of a present world slowly coming into focus just in time for him to shove through the revolving hospital doors. His hands left dried crimson prints on the glass, and he didn’t care.

     He stumbled in, hair disheveled, clothes bloody, eyes red and teary. The people in the lobby looked at him like he might be an escapee from the mental asylum as he hurriedly rushed up to the front desk.

     The ladies there stared at him, and the room was eerily quiet aside from people rustling, pens clicking, the scrawl of writing, the clack of keys on a keyboard, and a phone ringing somewhere in the distance. They were wide eyed, almost afraid or maybe appalled.

     Jack didn’t care about the judgmental gazes and concerned looks or the fact that he was violently shaking and out of breath, or even the fact that silent tears trickled down his face. He wondered how he was holding himself together right now, really.

     And that intrusive thought broke him.

     He let out a shaky sob, sinking to his knees and shutting the world away. He felt his body curl into a fetal position and he felt the desperate heaving of his lungs.

     Maybe his heart even shattered, too.

     His eyes squeezed shut, he just sobbed. 27, a grown man, and here he was wailing like a lost child in the middle of the hospital lobby. Maybe that’s because that’s what he was; a lost child. A homeless puppy or a stray cat. Disoriented and devastated. God, he was an absolute _mess,_ and that was crystal clear as he had himself a mental breakdown on that disgustingly clean floor.

     He felt hands on him and a ringing that could’ve been words at some point, as if someone was speaking to him while he was underwater.

     Jack knew he hit whoever was touching him. He couldn’t tell you how, it was just a thing he was somehow confident happened.

     And from there, he couldn’t remember anything other than the anxiety-inducing feeling of impending doom and despair.

     Then he opened his eyes.

      It was bright; too bright, he thought, dark spots clouding his vision.

     It took him a few moments to recollect his mind and all the events that had gone down. Actually, a few moments was a severe under-exaggeration. He was sitting there for maybe five minutes trying to remember what was happening, his perspective still shrouded and his head still killing him.

     But once those short, ignorant, blissful moments were gone, his existential crisis hit him full force, knocking the air out of his lungs.

     A figure came into focus, and he managed to gasp out, “Mark…”

_Mark._

     Was he okay? Did he…? Last Jack had heard, the man was in critical condition. He recalled trying to shove his way through the paramedics to get onto the ambulance. A couple people had to hold him back to stop him from doing so.

     God, he was fucking _insane._

     With a grunt, he stood from the stiff chair he was in. A glance outside told him it was night now, which meant he must’ve fallen asleep. Silently, he cursed himself out, carding a- now clean- hand through his hair.

     He gazed around, eventually gathering that he was in the hospital lobby still. It was significantly emptier now. His blue eyes fell on the ladies at the desk, and all of them looked sheepish. The one that had been standing in front of him was now backed hesitantly against the desk.

     At first he was angry, and then sad, and then defeated. He walked up to them, apologizing quietly before continuing, “Mark Fischbach. I need ta see him.”

     “I’m sorry, sir. Visi-” One of the other lobbyists smacked the one who was speaking.

     “Room 204 in the ICU, floor 3. Um… go quietly.”

     He barely heard her last sentence. He was already on his way to his best friend… his boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

     Jack yanked the door open, probably close to pulling it off its hinges, if he was honest. He closed it behind him just to stall his eyes from looking at what could be the worst news of his life.

     Tears pricked his eyes as he finally gathered the courage to face what rested in the bed his back was toward.

     Whipping around, he had to take a minute to focus on what his eyes were showing him.

     There were so many machines and wires attached to his boyfriend, and he hated that. He hated it so much. They fucking scared him and he didn’t want to see them _ever._

     He distracted his eyes as he paced up to the bed, up until all he had to look at was Mark. Mark laying there, unconscious. He hated that.

     “Ye’re gonna wake up,” Jack whispered, more so to himself than anyone else. “Ye’re gonna wake up an’ then we’re gonna make a video, and ye’re gonna tell everyone ye’re ‘kay, ‘cause ye _will_ be. It wouldn’ be lyin’ if it s’the truth, ye know. It’d be th’truth. …Righ’…?”

     A tear fell down his face.

     All he knew was what the police had told him.

 

_“Uh…_ _Sir… I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” The uniformed man fiddled with his thumbs, looking almost sheepish. Maybe even scared. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” He repeated, his voice breaking. “But it’s not likely he’ll… it’s not likely he’ll make it. It was a pretty bad crash. There’s still hope, though!”_

_Like hell there was. That was a pathetic show, and Jack bitterly told him so, too, his eyes stinging with tears and his whole body trembling. “Fock ye,” he’d said. “I don’ want yer lyin’ an’ I can’t believe ye’d even say somethin’ like that. Go fock yerself.”_

_Luckily, the officer didn’t seem to take it to heart,_ _shooting him instead a look of sincere pity. “I wish you the best, sir.” He’d said, and God, Jack wished he hadn’t._

 

     And he broke down again, because what the fuck was he supposed to do? He was going to lose the love of his life. He was going to lose the love of his life, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

     All he felt was emptiness.

     It was so cold.

     He rested his head on Mark’s stomach, sobbing quietly at the loss of his best friend who hadn’t even died.

_There was nothing he could do._


End file.
